


The Chef & The Rat

by snarkyscorp



Category: Free!
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, horrible cook makoto, rat haru, ratatouille - Freeform, tiny chef haru
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Tokyo, there is a high-class restaurant that has recently seen a decline after the passing of its genius Head Chef and owner. Now, it's run by Yamazaki Sousuke with Sous-Chef Matsuoka Rin, so when no-name Tachibana Makoto turns up with a letter from his dead mother, neither of them know what to make of him. In the end, it may take the company of a rat named Haru to guide Makoto to his destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jumon

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU based on the movie Ratatouille, one of my favorites! Once I thought up "tiny chef" Haru and bumbling cook Makoto, there was no turning back.

The streets of Tokyo were crowded and full of strangers, hordes of people rushing past without a second look at the young man in a green sweater and brown peacoat, his worn boots scraping the pavement as he tripped in his haste. Waiting impatiently at the street light, Tachibana Makoto looked down at his watch for the fifth time since he'd gotten off the train and shivered as the cold winter wind went right through his clothes.

As soon as he got his first paycheck, he would use the money to buy a scarf and gloves, he thought. Without a penny to spare, rubbing his hands in his pockets and dancing from foot to foot would have to do for now. 

The light changed. Makoto bustled along beside the thousands of other workers on their way to jobs throughout the city. Most of them were in business suits, salarymen who worked in corporate highrises and caught the last train to the surrounding cities at night. Makoto looked a little out of place in the coat he'd worn since high school - a bit too short on his arms now, a bit too tight at his chest (with one button in desperate need of mending before it popped from his breadth) - and the sneakers he'd bought used from a neighbor in Iwatobi whose son had gone to university. Still, he pushed on through the crowd, nudging his glasses up over the bridge of his nose so he could read the street signs. 

The last thing he wanted to do was pass the restaurant entirely, although the second it came into view, he knew he couldn't have missed it if he tried. 

Jumon was once one of Tokyo's best restaurants, and though its service and reviews had declined in recent years due to the passing of the visionary chef who founded it, the tables were still full every night, and the city views rivaled that of the best penthouses and offices. On the 30th floor, situated above a Hyatt Hotel and in the heart of the city, Jumon consisted of seating for up to 200, with glass windows all around the dining room. From the street level, it looked just as awing, and Makoto paused at the lobby doors to look up. 

" _Wow_ ," he murmured. It was the biggest building he'd ever seen in his life. Growing up in Iwatobi had left Makoto somewhat sheltered, and maybe he'd never have set foot here without the tragedies that passed in his own life, but he was here now. He had to make the most of this opportunity, whatever it was. 

After straightening his clothes and smoothing out any wrinkles, he approached the doorman, who gave him a look but let him in anyway. After all, this was a hotel; Makoto certainly wouldn't be the first kid from a small fishing town to pay a visit. Once inside the stunning foyer, Makoto pulled an envelope anxiously out of his pocket, rubbing the seal over and over as he pushed the button and waited. 

" _Ohayou gozaimasu_ ," the bellhop greeted, opening the elevator door for Makoto and holding it for him. "Which floor would you like, sir?" 

_Sir_. Makoto rubbed the back of his neck, glanced down at his envelope, and then tried to say, "Thirty, please," with as much conviction as he could. The elevator quietly zoomed up, and Makoto's knees shook as the pressure built in his ears. He had to reach out to hold onto the handrails that wound around the perimeter of the elevator. 

"Your first time at Jumon, sir?" 

"Y-Yes." Makoto swallowed, watching the floors rise higher and higher. He hadn't realized it till just then, but, "It's also my first time in an elevator." 

The elevator dinged for the 30th floor, and the doors opened to a foyer, with beautiful wood floors, waterfalls trickling into small pools that had real live fish swimming in them, and beyond that, the dining room, with views of Tokyo like Makoto had only ever seen on television. Awed, his eyes widened, and his heart pounded thickly in his chest. 

Stepping off the elevator, he barely heard the bellhop thank him for coming and wish him a pleasant experience. Everything about Jumon was like a dream: crisp and clean, smooth lines and polished metals. It glistened from the sunlight filtering in through the windows. 

Makoto stepped through the foyer and into the dining room, to get a better look. 

" _Oi_. You there. What do you think you're doing?" 

Makoto jumped, spinning around to face an irritated looking man with bright red hair and teeth as sharp as a shark's. He wore a white apron and bright red tennis shoes. 

"Do you not speak Japanese or something? _How about English_?" he asked, his rough voice pronouncing what sounded like perfect English to Makoto, although it had always been his worst subject, so he couldn't be sure. 

"I-I'm supposed to give this to the manager." He held out the envelope, but when the red-headed guy tried to take it, he pulled it back. "I'm very sorry, but it can only be delivered directly to the manager of Jumon." 

The guy gave him an annoyed look, but eventually waved him to the right. "That'd be Yamazaki Sousuke. He's very busy, so don't expect anything. What's your name? I'll tell him you're here." 

"Tachibana Makoto." 

"Stay put, Tachibana." 

The guy hurried off behind the foyer, and Makoto couldn't help but peek around the pillar to see where he'd gone. He caught a brief glimpse of a swinging kitchen door, a few voices carrying out before it swung shut again. Beyond it, he'd just barely seen the famous kitchens. It was the kind of place Makoto had always wanted to work in, but he'd never had any culinary talent beyond tamagoyaki. And even that usually wound up a little bitter or burned. 

He thought of his mother, her bright smile as she cooked pancakes for him on Saturday mornings after school or rolled rice balls for his bentos when he had to stay late. She had been such a wonderful cook. Makoto always wished he'd taken after her in that regard. But try as he might, he wasn't born with her talent for seasonings and cooking flare. She'd always told him "Anyone can cook, Makoto," but lately, Makoto could only hear her words as a distant reminder of his failings. _Anyone can cook_ , but apparently not everyone could cook well enough to do it for a living. 

Even though she had only passed away recently, Makoto still missed his mother very much. At a time like this, thinking of her made him sullen, but he forced his chin up and tried to be strong. To honor her memory, it was the least he could do. 

A few minutes after the redhead had disappeared, a broad-shouldered, tall man with dark hair and brooding, teal eyes pushed through the back kitchens, like a storm as he pushed into the foyer. 

"You Tachibana?" 

"Y-Yes!" Makoto said, trying not to take a step back. He was intimidated, that was for sure. Makoto had always been one of the tallest boys in his classes, but this guy was a little taller than him and wore his height like a suit of armor. "Are you Yamazaki-san?" 

"Rin said you have a letter for the manager of Jumon. That's me." Yamazaki held out a large hand, which featured burn and cut scars that were aged and healed. The callouses probably told stories of years in the culinary field. "Well?" 

Makoto meekly handed the letter over, bowing as he did so in respect. "My mother recently passed away, Yamazaki-san, and she instructed me in her will to bring this letter to the owner of Jumon. Please accept this." 

Yamazaki's brows knitted a little, and he tipped his head, regarding the bowed Tachibana and then the letter. He took the latter, checking the seal on the back, which hadn't been disturbed. "You didn't read it?" 

Makoto, stilled bowed, shook his head. "The instructions didn't say whether I should or not, and I wanted to honor my mother's wishes." 

"Tch." Yamazaki peeled the letter open, moving to sit at one of the fine wood tables near the wall of windows overlooking the city. He took a few minutes to read through it, silently, and then snapped his fingers. "Oi. Stop being so well-mannered, and come over here. Take a seat." 

Makoto rushed to obey, nodding and trying not to scratch the chair on the floor in his haste to pull it out. He had to unbutton his coat to sit, lest the breadth of his chest strain the buttons beyond their limits. 

"You seriously didn't read this letter?" Yamazaki asked. 

"No! My mother--" 

"So you came all the way from--" he turned the letter, checking the address, "--Iwatobi, at this hour, to deliver a letter from your dead mother to a complete stranger without knowing what the hell you were getting yourself into?" 

Makoto's ears burned. "Ah, well, I didn't think--" 

"No, you didn't. This letter might very well have me dump you in the ocean." 

"My mother wouldn't have--" 

"You trust her, even now?" 

Makoto's brows drew down, and for the first time since her passing, he felt anger swell in his chest. He glared down at the table, at his hands that had balled into fists there. "My mother was a great woman, Yamazaki-san. If you would have known her, you would understand. I will trust her no matter what, even when she isn't physically here to guide me." 

Yamazaki made another clicking noise with his tongue. Makoto was about to stand up to leave, thinking he'd made a mistake after all, when Yamazaki spoke again. 

"This letter says I am to offer you a job in my kitchens." 

Makoto looked up, blinking wide green eyes at Yamazaki. "A job?" 

"In my kitchens," Yamazaki repeated. "Do you know how to cook?" 

"I… Well…" 

"Have you ever worked in a kitchen? Studied at a culinary school? Do you even have any experience at all working with food?" 

"My mother was the best cook in Iwatobi," Makoto answered. The heat from his ears traveled to his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. "She taught me everything." 

Yamazaki scoffed. "Did she? Well, then, why don't you have a restaurant of your own? Why does your dead mother want to pawn you off on me?" 

Makoto swallowed, his shoulders slumped, and he looked away, out the large windows at the city below. "I don't know." He couldn't find the strength to admit that he wasn't anywhere near as good with food as his mother had always been, that even despite her years of tutelage, he had never progressed past being able to use the microwave. It was humiliating, to be here in a fine restaurant, with his mother's letter saying things he couldn't comprehend. Why would she send him here? She knew his talents. She knew everything about him. What did she think Yamazaki-san could do for him that she hadn't tried on her own? 

"Well, I guess it can't be helped," Yamazaki said, standing up with a sigh. "You can start tonight, by which I mean we serve dinner promptly at 5pm, so food prep begins at eleven this morning." 

Makoto stumbled out of his chair. "A-ah, wait, you're offering me a position here?" 

Yamazaki ignored his question, making his way with long strides towards the kitchens. "I don't know where your talents lie, so for now, you'll help with prep and cleanup. You're incredibly lucky I just fired our custodian for being an inept waste of space." Yamazaki opened the kitchen door and walked through. 

Makoto paused just outside the kitchens, sweating a little. Should he follow? 

"Oi, are you coming or what?" Yamazaki called. "I can't show you around if you don't shadow me." 

"Y-yes, sir!" 

In the bustling kitchens, Makoto hurried to follow Yamazaki from station to station, from the prep counters to the freezers and finally to the large trash bins they kept in the service elevator, which went straight down to the street level for pick up. He met Matsuoka Rin, the Sous-Chef and redhead who'd been so curt with him in the foyer, as well as Hazuki Nagisa, an apprentice whose specialty was the creativity he brought to the dishes. 

Yamazaki explained how things worked, the hierarchy of the kitchen staff, and the hours of employment. If Makoto showed promise, he could rise up to Sous-Chef himself, a comment that had Matsuoka glowering at him as he pounded a slab of fish mercilessly. 

No one bothered to notice the small creature with a long wiry tail, alert ears, and tiny pink feet hesitating under a cart, hidden in the shadows, his little nose twitching as he smelled the fine cheeses, wines, and fish that made up the bulk of the restaurant's eclectic menu. If Yamazaki would have seen the little rat, he certainly wouldn't have let it live, and the sight of it would have shut down the kitchens for a week to clean and fumigate for inspections. 

But Haru the rat had been there for a few days already, sneaking around to eat what he could to survive, creeping closer and closer to the prep stations because the overzealous Sous-Chef kept peppering the dishes so much that Haru was barely able to refrain from sneezing. Every once in a while, he'd take a chance and bump the pepper into the sink where it spilled. Matsuoka cursed, but if that meant he'd use a different spice once in a while, Haru didn't think that would be very bad at all.


	2. Cloves & Mint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru's first few days at Jumon don't go exactly as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are many different kinds of rats around the world, but for the purposes of this fic, Haru is kind of a mix. He's mostly a black rat, since they have adorably floppy ears and pointed snouts, but because brown rats are excellent swimmers I can't discount that either! So let's just pretend a mixed breed exists or that Haru is just a unique rat with varied traits.

Like everyone in the world, Haru had a dream. It wasn't so very different from anyone else's. He tried just as hard to attain his dream as anyone that motivated would. Haru spent every waking hour thinking about his dream, and even when he slept, he saw images of a hopeful future behind his tiny eyelids. The only thing Haru had ever wanted was to be free to cook as he pleased.

Although Haru was a very talented chef, there was one little problem: mainly, that Haru was a rat, and though he was very capable at cooking, no human would let him anywhere near a kitchen. 

Barely 25cm from tail to snout, Haru was one of the smallest rats in the outlying Tokyo community. His family was made up of similarly small rodents, but outside his childhood home, he normally found himself dwarfed by other rats and their broad bodies and thick tails. Maybe that was part of the reason that Haru didn't feel any more intimidated by humans than he did by fellow rats; everything was already bigger than him, so why be afraid? 

Such thinking led to a lot of grief in Haru's short life. No one in his community understood why he wanted to cook or what the point was of plating ingredients with the right garnishes, sides, and wines or what made him want to put the meats over fire or sprinkle seasonings and add garnishes. Haru had the kind of nose that smelled everything, so he was also incredibly picky about what sort of food he ate. This led to further ostracization from his family and community, until finally, he left home to find somewhere that would accept him. 

Tokyo had been his first and only thought. The best chefs in Japan had restaurants there, and ever since he was little, he had heard the television above his home and a man's happy voice saying over and over again _Anyone can cook_ while he listed instructions for making this or that recipe. Though Haru understood that the television was for humans and the man speaking wasn't including rats in his beautiful statement, Haru still felt inspired by him. Every once in a while, he snuck up to a place in the house where he could see the TV screen, could watch the handsome, broad-shouldered man and learn from him. At the end of every program, it said _Filmed at Jumon in Tokyo_. 

That was where Haru knew he belonged. 

Of course, finding Jumon had been a task in itself. Tokyo was much bigger than he'd anticipated, and he spent many nights in the gutters and alleys, huddled under trash for warmth. During his search, he barely ate; the things he found in the garbage were just that: garbage. Haru would have given anything for a fresh slice of fruit or a succulent scrap of saba. Eventually, he was forced to gnaw on whatever he could find, most of the food not suitable even for tourists, but if it got Haru to Jumon, then it would be worth it. 

In the end, he found the restaurant and maneuvered his way into a crate of fish that was brought up one day. Inside, he froze his feet off but managed to peel a few bits of saba off the bone. 

The savory taste was worth every second of the pain. 

He found a spot under one of the serving carts in Jumon's kitchen and worked for an entire evening chewing through the wall to make himself a home. The kitchen staff didn't notice; the noise of food prep and orders from head chef Yamazaki overpowered the sound of teeth boring through wood that might have been heard otherwise. 

When the staff finally emptied out after midnight, Haru sneaked out, his little pink nose twitching as he got up on his hind legs to sniff. The aromas weren't as prominent after custodial had cleaned up, but Haru's unique ability to smell through such a strong scent prevailed. He padded happily to the paper bags of breads first, ripping an easy hole in a loaf that smelled of rosemary and garlic. Then, he found some fruit that didn't need refrigeration and brought everything with him to one of the tables that overlooked Tokyo. He'd hoarded away a scrap of fish that had fallen on the ground earlier, as well as a capful of wine he'd swiped when there was a glass waiting to be served. 

His first meal in Jumon was a humble one. A pinch of pepper, a sprinkle of lemongrass, and a few bits of turmeric and ginger later, Haru's fish was perfect. His slice of apple was bigger than he was, but since he hadn't eaten a proper meal in a long time, he knew he could finish it. 

Once his tiny belly was full of his treat, he lifted the cap of wine to his snout and sat back to look at the sprawling, beautiful city below. He had never been so high up in his life, and his hometown seemed a distant memory. His tail twitched a few times thoughtfully. Although he knew he may never cook for Jumon, he could live there and observe the culture and envision his dream perhaps one day becoming a reality. 

Haru lived this way for three days. Taking scraps when the chefs discarded them, stealing wine and bread, sleeping on top of the tables with the city lights twinkling below. 

It was a beautiful three days. 

But nothing could last forever. 

On his fourth day, he was found out. As Haru darted out of his hole in the wall for a scrap of cilantro that had accidentally dropped to the floor, Sous-Chef Matsuoka spotted him. 

"The hell is that!?" Matsuoka shouted. "Yamazaki-san, there's a r--" 

Yamazaki appeared behind Matsuoka, clapping a broad hand over his mouth. "I see him. There's no need to shout and upset the patrons. And we don't need the health board in here, shutting down our restaurant." 

Haru, who had frozen when spotted, his glassy eyes wide and frightened, made a run for his home. He knew it wouldn't be completely safe there like it had been before, but he didn't know where else to go. Panicked, he ran as fast as he could, until he felt something firmly pin his tail to the floor. It yanked his motion to a dead stop, and he squeaked pathetically. It wasn't pain so much as embarrassment and annoyance that the big oaf Head Chef had stepped on his tail to keep him from attaining freedom. 

"Oi, Tachibana." 

A young man who'd only shown up the previous day rushed up beside him, a chef's hat slumped and wrinkled on his head. Tachibana wiped light brown bangs out of stunning green eyes with his forearm, which was broader than Yamazaki's, a feat Haru had often thought would be hard to beat. The guy was built like a brick wall. But even though Tachibana was nearly as tall as Yamazaki and nearly as muscled, his mannerisms made him look much, much smaller. Like a child in a man's body, still learning how to blend in. 

"Yes sir?" 

"I have a very important task for you." 

Tachibana's eyebrows lifted. He looked floored, as if he'd never been given such an amazing opportunity when really it was only Yamazaki yanking his leash. Then, Tachibana's gaze followed Yamazaki's posture, from the hand still clapped over Matsuoka's big mouth down to the toe of his shoe, where Haru's tail remained mercilessly trapped. Squeaking in protest, begging Tachibana to understand him in as many words as he could muster (even if they weren't something humans could understand), Haru tried to scurry off again, only to find Yamazaki hadn't lessened the pressure even an ounce. He couldn't move. All Haru could do was look up at Tachibana and hope the guy saw something in his expression that would make it impossible to end his small life. 

"I need you to dispose of this creature," Yamazaki said, gesturing. "Discreetly." 

"Dis...pose...of…" Tachibana's voice wavered. Haru squeaked a little louder, pleasantly surprised to see it affected Tachibana. 

"Discreetly," Yamazaki reminded. 

"Capture it and take it to the dumpsters," Matsuoka snarled, finally yanking himself free of Yamazaki's grip, dusting himself off like he'd been sullied. His face was a rather interesting shade of pink, though. 

"Y-yes, of course," Tachibana said. 

Haru squeaked and squeaked, but there was nothing more to do. When Yamazaki's foot lifted, that was when a slick pot came down, trapping him inside. A second later, something flat slid under his feet, and Haru could only back up until his body hit the round of the pot. He jumped so the flat piece of cardboard wouldn't trap his leg, but he was trapped no matter how he looked at it anyway. His squeaks grew more and more desperate, until even the echo of them sounded dull and listless to his own ears. 

Pathetic. 

Finally, as the pot was tipped rightside-up, Haru let himself fall, cradled on the uncomfortable bottom, his dark blue eyes filling with tears. All he wanted was to cook. To be _free_ to live the way that made him happiest. Why did humans have to keep stomping on that dream? Haru sniffled, his little nose twitching. He brought his tiny pink front feet to his face, cleaning himself up. There was no way he'd let Tachibana see him like that. He wouldn't cry himself to his death. 

It took a while before the voices in the kitchen at Jumon faded away. The elevator's swift descent made Haru feel like he was floating, and when it stopped, it was that much more painful a reminder that he'd never go up again. 

After a minute or two, the cardboard that trapped Haru in the pot slid away. Even though the pot was too slick to climb out of, Haru tried, his feet scrambling at every little ridge to try and get traction. Tachibana nearly dropped the pot when he started to scurry, so he kept that up until he was exhausted. That's when he realized Tachibana was speaking to him. 

"Please! Please don't do that! I'm not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you." 

Suddenly, Haru stopped. He was shaking, an unfamiliar sensation rushing through him as he looked up at Tachibana. There was something about the man that calmed him, even though he knew full well they'd ordered him to kill Haru. Dispose of him. Like garbage. 

Tachibana smiled. It was the kind of smile that Haru knew would melt butter it was so warm. 

"I have to act tough for my job's sake, but I'll let you out down here, where it's safe and there's plenty to eat." 

Tachibana gestured to the dumpsters, and Haru scrunched up his nose in distaste. 

"Oh… Oh, you don't like this sort of food? Um, but, well, we don't throw out the good stuff, that's true. Still, you won't go hungry. I'll try to sneak something special in the trash I take out tonight for you, little guy." 

_Little guy_. Haru was really feeling annoyed now; his whiskers crinkled as he gave an indignant squeak. 

Tachibana laughed. The sound of it stole Haru's breath. His blue eyes widened. The lights were dim at this hour of night, but they still managed to illuminate all the various colors of brown in the fringe of Tachibana's hair and the vivid green of his eyes. Haru had never particularly liked humans before, but this one. He was different. 

As Tachibana knelt to put the pot on the ground, Haru watched him warily. But in the end, Tachibana tipped the pot enough to easily let Haru out. 

"There you go, little guy." 

Haru knew he should run. He should get out of there as fast as possible, but there was something about Tachibana and the way he knelt there on the dirty pavement to let a rat free instead of killing it rooted him to the spot. He slowly walked out of the pot and onto solid ground, where he sat on his back legs, lifting his upper body and front legs, trying to get a better view (and smell) of this human. He smelled like...cloves. And mint. It wasn't unpleasant. 

Their eyes met. Tachibana's widened a little. He gently lifted the chef's hat off his head, clutching it against his chest. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. 

Haru had never in his life had a human speak directly to him, unless it was to yell or curse his foul, filthy existence. And he'd certainly never heard of humans caring one way or another whether a rat was okay or not. Haru's gaze drifted to the chef's hat, and his nose twitched again, eyes glossy. He shook his head. 

_No. I'm not okay._

Haru had just enough time to note the look of awe on Tachibana's face before the back door for the hotel opened. Without knowing what else to do, Haru made a stupid, rash decision and leaped inside Tachibana's hat. The strange thing was, Tachibana gently pushed him in at the same time, as he lifted the hat and tugged it down on his head again. There, in a nest of Tachibana's hair, Haru shook with fear and some other kind of emotion he had never experienced before. 

Bowing his head, Haru buried his nose in his hair and inhaled the soft, calming scent of Tachibana.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Jumon_ is Japanese for "magic spell", which I thought was appropriate. Thank you for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](http://fuwafuwafic.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/oikawalife) if you'd like to keep in touch. (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) ♫･*:.｡. .｡.:*･


End file.
